Verge of a Miracle

It's December again, and that means rest. I get all quiet and pensive. I'd slow down, take stock, take deep breaths and unconsciously change down the gears.

Lately, a lingering feeling has been skulking at the back of my mind, just out of my conscious efforts, fleeting in-between the waking and sleeping hours. It's some sense of expectancy, some impending sense that something important is about to happen, or has just happened. Some sort of glow to it. Or, afterglow, perhaps.

There is an urge to share, but it feels almost obscene to have thought of it, to expose it - delicate, frail, perhaps premature, fearing it malformed. Dark thoughts of uncertainty begin to cloud the mind. Thoughts of days gone by, days of future past. Stolen thoughts.

Dreams fall apart; schemes gone awry
dashed hope; lost portions
Weak and fragile we are
simple monochromatic creatures of shadow
unable to bear the richness and depth of color, shades and tones

Do we plumb the depths of despair
before we come to,
gasping at the surface for air
and again surrender
Do we turn to diversions
distractions and addictions
to give ourselves reprieve?

Are we standing on the verge of a miracle?
to see the hand that reaches down from the heavens
part the clouds
crash through the walls
to save us from ourselves?

It's that lingering feeling you get after a really great camp or a thoroughly amazing holiday, but having named it, it somehow loses its potency. Strange. I can't quite put my finger on that feeling, but its when you had an experience where you were transformed, empowered, freed, grown, found yourself and made life decisions and life friends. My teenage years were punctuated by awesome camps that were pivotal: week-long events that took up most of the holidays ambling through deserted school blocks, church-halls, forests and hidey-seek in hotel complexes. Solemn convocations, singing and high ritual in holy spaces, gatherings of longing plaintive prayer and sacred conviction. Some anticipated, others un-looked for, un-asked.

There were the TC camps, church camps, CF camps, SV camps, Crusade LTI, kids camp (as helpers), school camps - all of which were somehow deeply engaging and paradigm shifting. It would be grubby, shabby and occasionally full of incidents, but the experience would deepen with each day of the camp, as we lived out, played, prayed, slept, ate and bathed together and making friends, the song growing louder and louder until the last night of the camp, where magically one no longer needed any sleep. Campfires under a starry canopy filled with constellations and shooting stars. Fiery sunrises on the horizon. Songs through the night, games and sharing, singing and dancing. The night would never end. It just got better and better, richer and richer.


And the cards! Encouragement cards - home-made montages of grace. Where does one start? Everyone would have their own letterbox, filled with candy, messages and goodies. There would even grow a unique lingua franca, a syntax and inside jokes that kept everyone at camp roaring at the same idiosyncracies. And there always was hope. It always pointed to the future - everything would always be alright.


So that's how it was then, when things were simpler. But what I can't quite shake off is that intense sense of having done something good and right, connected with something greater, beyond and outside myself, my aspirations and my experiences. It was meaningful, rich, affirming and alive. And that sweet afterglow and buzz coming back to 'normalcy', before the rhythm of regularity slowly erodes it away.

"Mountain tops have valleys in-between" - Michael Card

The odd and annoying thing is it doesn't quite translate to people around in the aftermath: when asked how was it, all you can mumble up is something along the lines of "oh, it was great! really fun!", and the other party will thoughtfully affirm your enthusiasm, and gently shrug their shoulders, nodding in some sort of half-hearted agreement. It could be a great camp, a backpacking trip, a school term. It doesn't matter. It just doesn't translate. People will agree, even enthuse, but it never quite rubs off. Oh, how often I'd long to have someone to share these with, an inside joke, a knowing wink. They might even understand it intellectually, but never come in, as circles go.

And from there on, it sort of just fades out, albeit slowly. You talk about it less and less, and sometimes even grow tired of explaining yourself over and over again. On rare occasions, it might even become something embarrassing to identify with, similar to pretending you didn't quite have that eccentric aunt or that you actually attended that teeny-bopper concert back in the early 90's.

BUT. During that experience, you grew, became a knight, performed exploits and slew your dragons; become stately princes feasting high amongst great lords in magnificent ancient cedar halls. You've plumbed the depths of the earth and chased the sun through its course, wrestled with the kraken and overcome, conquered abyssinia. You've executed manoeuvres you'd never thought possible, bearing courage you never knew existed. Swung boldly into the fray with loyal mates, emerged victorious bloodied but breathing. At the end of the adventure though, you tumble back through the Wardrobe in the Spare Room only to be your grubby self, perhaps wiser and stronger, but grubby nonetheless. People treat and assume you as your same old former self, and soon, you too forget and believe them, and treat yourself like so.

So we sigh aloud, and lament the old days: the melons were sweeter too.

Have we changed? or thought we've changed? Did that matter at all? Are we a dormant volcano waiting for the next seismic shake-up ready to move heaven and earth, or just petrified trembling for eternity? Are we ourselves for the better? I'd like to think that it's all there somewhere inside us - one day we'll rise from the ashes, getting ready to catch the train a-comin' and be whisked off once again to the Lion's country, greet gallant Reepicheep with his rapier sharp and glinting in the bright sun, dashing off into the waves and spray, our arms remembering its cunning and strength, riding as if we've never been away.

Can we return, can we go back? Perhaps we are waiting for that familiar smell to waft around, that quiet voice, that strain of a melody once long forgotten, the enchanted horn to sound and awaken us again from our stupor. Perhaps. Just perhaps...



The Call
Регина Спектор
It started out as a feeling
Which then grew into a hope
Which then turned into a quiet thought
Which then turned into a quiet word
And then that word grew louder and louder
'Til it was a battle cry

I'll come back
When you call me
No need to say goodbye

Just because everything's changing
Doesn't mean it's never
Been this way before
All you can do is try to know
Who your friends are
As you head off to the war
Pick a star on the dark horizon
And follow the light

You'll come back
When it's over
No need to say good bye

Now we're back to the beginning
It's just a feeling and now one knows yet
But just because they can't feel it too
Doesn't mean that you have to forget
Let your memories grow stronger and stronger
'Til they're before your eyes

You'll come back
When they call you
No need to say good bye

Where do you want to go?

Journey: c.1225, "a defined course of traveling," from Old French journée "a day's work or travel"

I love to travel.

Not just to faraway distant lands, but even just down to the corner shop, or leaving for work or errand. Its that tension of leaving home and the resolution of returning home that makes the story so. An ad-venture: to+risk. Some stories arch more than others. Some are meta-stories - a story about stories. Likewise, some journeys are meta-journeys. Some journeys intertwine in some sort of a divine dance.

There is a ritual to preparing for the journey, to think ahead for the day, to plan and pray, and also expecting the unexpected. The process of joining the dots, linking threads together. Meeting strangers, making friends, finding old friends again. To make sense of something, to form. The act of creation, ordered from chaos. To name the animals.

"If you want to go fast, go alone. If you want to go far, go together". - African Proverb

Sometimes we have companions for a while, fellow sojourners - travellers for a day or two. Travelling with company is swell - you get a shared experience and perspective on things, to cry with, to laugh with, to cringe with. Stuff to talk about, a portable communion. Laughing alone isn't all that fun. Per-adventure, some stay for a bit, others travel a distance with you. Per-chance a forever friend stays, commits to you; mayhaps some like Eliezar are more faithful than death. Blessed is that man who has a forever friend.

Yet, some valleys, we are to walk through alone. There are places no one else but you can go. We have just to grin and bear it, trudge and walk through. Only our Shepherd's staff and rod to guide. No light. No cheer. Faint hope. Traveling alone however, one learns volumes about oneself, and how we relate to community, to God and ourselves. There is beauty in the desert journey, grace in that brook we drink from, sweetness in the honey and meat the raven brings. A ragged, wild, unreasonable grace and mercy that pursues us. Almost obscenely beautiful.

Journal: c.1355, from Anglo-French jurnal "a day," from Old French journal, originally "daily"

So we think about the journey (literally 'the day'), write it down, record the daily exploits and the milestones. The mundane, even. Does forty years chasing sheep followed by forty years chasing cantankerous crowds make an epic journal? Perhaps - only if you've got a phenomenal God of the day (jour) and night (nuit) each and every one of those eighty years. A journey journal is something like old hansel and gretel's breadcrumbs. Except this one we carry with us, a map of sorts. A map that only works in hindsight. A map nonetheless. A map of grace.

Our story? His story. my story. turn the pages, leaf me through. I'm not finished yet.

The One You Left Behind
(Sarah Lacy, David Bird & Richard Lacy)

I have lost my true and only love
To the waves and far away
To the listless sea, the cloudy skies
To a new and distant day
Though I know you must go
It is hard for me and so
In the eventide I cry
And I hope that you will think of me
The one you left behind

Under different skies you'll do His work
Under different stars you'll stay
I pray that when your work is done
That He'll send you home someday
Every thought, every breath
Carries aching emptiness
For your loving arms I sigh
And I pray that you will think of me
The one you left behind

I would travel over water
I would race the river to the sea
I would give my home, my everything
Just to have you here with me
But my heart is alive
To the knowledge of His timing
And so ‘tis here I'll stay
‘Til He sends you home to me again
To the one you left behind

So, where am I?

It's that time of the year where I rue the lengthening days, watch the waxing and waning moons, walk circumspectly and consider the earth's circuitous route around its solar meanderings. Reckonings of the journey, gleaning the lessons learnt, the smells smelt, the sights set and the sounds sought.

Rosh Hashanah! Shana Tova, beloved.

So where have I been? And where am I now? And what mysteries lie up the corner? Questions, some answerable, others impossible! Can we know anything at all? Is there anything to be known?

Journeys, milestones, stretches of grace and highways of peace. Life on the fast track, slow glide on a tube. It has been an incredibly eventful journey. Amazing. Grace-filled, divine appointments of cosmic proportions. When did the mayhem start? I don't really know... unconsciously, unknowingly, the wheels began to turn, and something stirred. How do such things start? They mess you up, and one is spoilt for life. Yet, its incredible! How does my feebleness and multitude shortcomings match up to Grace? Precisely, it doesn't, and it cannot. And that makes it both reasonable and incredible. Thus I am caught in the beauty of the paradox, like a deer mesmerized by the terrifying on-coming headlights. Yet this journey is barely begun. And on it goes. What does one make of it, moment by moment, day by day, month by month, and year by year?

So it has been restfully quiet. Am grateful for it. Time to think, time to rest, time to recuperate and assume normalcy, whatever that means... Tempting to idle, tempting to procrastinate, tempting to say: hey, live for the now, the journey's almost done. Yet time marches on, and guilt, justifications and well-meaning intentions like the road, like sweet fruit on the garden path...

Yes there is hope yet. And hope is very often fully tangible. It's what we make of it. Hope, simple trust, in God's goodness. Glimpses of glory, glimmers divine. Its all in the mind, is it? or in the heart? Which aches worse? Maybe it hurts too much to think about it. But probably hurts more to feel it.

So choices, and decisions. Sure there's been good fun. Excitement, fulfilment and a fair share of disappointments and trepidation. Many a-things still lie in the fine balance, on the edge of a knife, and even more things are still in the air, tossed, open, unresolved, as far as I can tell from my limited earthly eyes, weak and feeble on this side of heaven. Choices. I don't know. I need wisdom, grace and favour to walk on. Sometimes it just feels lacking and soooo distant. Sometimes it comes in overwhelming abundance. Can we store these for a rainy day? Couldn't my faith just please be simpler and more child-like? Doubts and double-guessing... why? and how? and which?

Donch know, donch care, donch ask? Questions for now; chick-peas in hindsight. All I need, perhaps, is just peace for the moment, strength for the day, and grace to carry me. His mercy is new every morning, and that is more than enough. But sometimes I am blind to it, and instead try to barter my way out...

So there... I've said it - Help me along, Son of David, have mercy on me.

Κύριε Ἰησοῦ Χριστέ, Υἱέ τοῦ Θεοῦ, ἐλέησόν με τὸν ἁμαρτωλόν
Господи Ісусе Христе Сыне Божїй помилѹй мѧ грѣшнаго.

Is there a great divine hourglass,
each precious grain trickling mercilessly
through the fabric of time and space?
Will the passing seconds be redeemed for hours?
Will gold be bought for silver?

Buy wine and milk without money and cost?
Have bread for money spent, satisfaction for labour lost?
Will rain and snow not return
without watering the earth, bud and flourish,
to yield seed for the sower
and sweet bread to be eaten?

Roll Call - the Friends Diaspora...

Come this friday, another dear friend leaves the home nest and embarks on a new season, life in a strange land.

Why are we out here? Do we return? When do we meet again? Even astronomical conjunctions are predictable - why is ours so difficult?

Strangely enough, even some friends, though in their home-country, seem like strangers in their own land, nomadic in outlook, thought and existence.

Meeting in heaven, sounds fine and dandy, but for now while we live in our skins, it offers weak relief. Will we get to gather around a great celestial campfire and trade stories that we all missed. And we'll have eternity for that. So hold on to your fork!

Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. Romans 11:1
Andy C., Anna G., Batraa, Boogii, Chloe T., Dorothy M., Eddie K., Frews, Gabriel L., Galaa, Hai Dang N., James C., Jenn&Matt, Joanne Y., JohnK, John L., Joseph C., Louise W., Marg K., Mark G., Michelle J., Sam T., Sharon G., Vincent & Judy, Werns, XT, XLWJ

Dusty Nomad

Amazing 3-storey mosaic wall of an old cement factory in the outskirts of Dushanbe (click for detail)

The last few weeks have been tremendously fruitful, thanks be to God. Truly, its lovely colored balloons, bins by bins of delightful treasures to be opened.
looking down the apartment stairs

26 - 27 June: It all started end June, when I was supposed to fly for Spore from Sydney - and Qantas engineers went on strike, leaving my flight canceled, forcing me to be "free" for a lovely 16 hours. Amazing. I went home, showered, rested, sat on the grass, talked to God, listened to music, finished a book, prayed.
Manuel Sarango, Equadorian musician extrodinaire

27 - 28 June: Then the 2-day stopover in Singapore was grace-filled. Kudos to Sam-the-Great who waited for me at my place while I landed, patiently followed me around town on some errand running, meeting friends at a song-showcase, hung around for supper, bumped into the Z3 kids, stayed overnight with me. Breakfast with bro Patrick was a powerful Kairos event, empowered and commissioned. Followed swiftly with lunch with the family, amazing food and fellowship, not to mention the accidental appearance of Lamster. Then back home for a short rest, off to Saturday Night Celebration, and a prompt journey to Changi - a quiet send-off by Werns and a simple chat. No fireworks. But that was good.
Lute at LAMM

29 June - 6 July: Acoustics Conference in Paris - the Joint meeting of the American, European and French Acoustic Societies. The largest gathering of acousticians ever - 4000 papers in 25 parallel sessions. Met all the greatest brains in my field. Delivered two presentations, both of which went exellently well, thank you Jesus. One talk was featured on the ASA world-wide press room, as well as winning me the first prize for Best Student Paper! Again, thank you Jesus. What can I say? I'm deeply humbled. More than that - I got to make friends with other researchers, and who knows what it might lead to?
At LAMM, w Joe, Charles, Gary and Andrey

Another highlight in Paris was the company of HQ&QY, who bunked over with me the first half of the week. What delight to have friends to share your moments of joy, relief and celebration. Trotting around town, amazing companionship, amazing food. Makes for a lethal combination. =) Thank you dear friends.
Evening along la Seine
Poke! La Tour Eiffel
Playing the tourist, Arch de Triomphe
Lou, Lou, skip to the Louvre?
Pointy Ointy
Mini me?
Amazing array of berries

7 - 18 July: Whirlwind detour through Kazakstan, Kyrgyzstan and Tajikistan. Lugging one's conference paraphenalia to central asia isn't fun - thanks Jo for storing it for me in Almaty.
Scythian warrior - Independence Monument, Almaty, KZ
Eternal flame, WW2 Memorial, Panfilov Park, KZ
WW2 Memorial, Panfilov Park, KZ
Zhenkov Cathedral - largest wooden structure in the world! Look Ma, no nails!
Kazakh boy on the Dombra, Jibek Jolu, KZ
Getting crash course on the Khobyz, KZ

Travelled with Benny - met him on landing in Almaty and we bussed down to Bishkek. Proud to be Malaysian - I can walk into Kyrgyzstan anytime without a visa. Met Nazgul and Gulzag (amazing folk). We played at the American University of Central Asia (Auca), reporters from 4 newspapers. Benny also featured at a TV channel, and later for cultural TV. Several church meetings later, a Kalpak, and a last-minute ticket to Dushanbe, we said bye to our very capable hosts. A toast of Kymiss to them!
Flag flying atop the Parliament House of Kyrgyzstan
Benny interviews at the American University (AUCA), Bishkek
Journo going ga-ga over the passport (bundle in her hand)
Benny and highly capable Nazgul
Dinner@Jalal-Abad, traditional Kyrgyz chaikhana
Benny interviews with Channel 5, Kyrgyzstan
TV studio guy hard at work, 9:39am
Benny whips out his passport
Main square - statue of Freedom, Bishkek
Changing of the guard
Benny interviews with Nataliya from Culture TV
Roving interview in the park
Given Kalpaks to wear; honor for the bards
After one of our performances
Kywt Kyrgyz Kydz
Kyrgyz nativity set! Spot em camels!
View from our window
Main street, 6am. Distant Alatau Ranges
Boarding the Antonov An-24 to Dushanbe

Tajikistan was a breath of very HOT fresh air. Tree-lined boulevards, 40++degree weather, big smiles, amazing hosts Matt and Jenn. Its an amazing small world we live in, for Jenn turns out to be my dad's former student. Who would have guessed? We played for Neighbours, Master Musicians, Students, M workers. Brilliant, lovely baby Aidan. Who can forget the Osh?
Roof of the world: Pamirs
View of Toktogul Reservoir
Northern Shore, contrasting w dusty desert
Mighty Syr-Darya surges towards Ferghana Valley
What's a Tajik summer without grapes? [fruitless]
Benny and I play at a dinner
Dinner guests, yummy Osh has just served!
Baby Aidan wearing my Kalpak! absolutely fetching
UN and NGO personnel; Cafe has free wi-fi!
Baby Aidan plays w Benny
Another concert, friday evening
Tajik women on bus (shot from waist)
Mr Greens Seller, at the Dushanbe Bazaar
Mrs Greens Seller, yet another greens seller!
The local spice man
Naan seller loafing?
Latest hair curlers? (clue above)
Feeling nutty?
Lemony melons? Melony lemons? (aloud quickly now)
Eggstonishing eggciting eggcellent eggsellers!
Baby Aidan accosted by stranger in park! *HELP!*
Summer wild-flowers, Park Aini, TJ
Perickly thistles
Anti-gravity mountain goats, Vodohranilishe
Close-up: the original stick-it pads
More summer wildflowers, Vodanasos area
Waterworks on the edge (literally) of the city,
Yakovlev Yak-40, back to Almaty on Tajik Air

Back to Kazakstan to rendezvous with Jo. Helped with the English Camp - facilitated, translated, befriended, performed. Big House, Birik, Delina, Gordon, Susannah and Grace, Miriam, Mithrigul, Gulzel, Aigul and Zhanat and baby Abylai. So many changes in 8 years.
English Camp! (welldone, JO!)
Jo giving campers instructions
Leaders: G-zel, Jo, Susanna, M-gul, Gordon, Delina, Grace
A tired Jo catches 40 winks during a break =)
Random game of golf, surreal. Thanks, Gordon!
Jo giving the farewell speech
One last group shot of campers
Precious friends: Aygul & Zhanat, w baby Abylai

The land is thirsty.
Will you send your rain?
The parched earth drinks
Heavy clouds of grace,
Pellets of salvation.
Heaven rips, gives drink to a thirsty place.

19 July: Crazy 23-hr day fossicking through Dubai in 50 degree heat, ambling in the noon-day sun. I had to be mad, looking for a music shop in the mess and jumble of roads and buildings. Dusty. Immense buildings, little soul. Strange ambitions of man, folly of follies. But I found my music shop!
Dusty Dubai, dusty skyscrapers... why bother with glass?!
Massive skyscraper, pretty patterns
One shot before ducking indoors from the heat
Pollution - spot em Dubai skyscrapers! (its there!)
Massive scale model of downtown Dubai
Quiet fountain, Bur-Juman
Massive glass roof, Bur-Juman Center *hypnotic*
More glass roofs, wooden slats, lovely play of light

So there it is. Now for rest, friends and family. One worship gig, one seminar at NUS, an interview and back to Sydney in the thick of semester. Much too fruitful, much too much grace. New friends, new horizons, new perspectives. Thank you Lord, I await the next bundle of bins, of colorful balloons to astonish and blow my mind away. =)

Surprise shot of jershillabeletheanna and papa
Desert Songs, Oud
Desert Songs: Joel, Paul, Andrew, Werns and I
Worship in story and song

End of this journey: Tienshan Mountains in background